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Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Beni Vincenti (the man with the one red eye)

by Frank

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a piece of a longer writing project. You can view the entire project here: Beni Vincenti (the man with the one red eye)

The following is a piece of writing submitted by Frank on April 1, 2010
"Something to keep you guessing until the surprize ending of all"

Chapter one, part one

There was a riot on 15th near the corner store.
From far away you could hear the yelling and screaming of bystanders, shouting for the officers to take notice of them. The officers themselves tried caution tape line, keeping honest citizens honest. The cheif of police was on the verge of calling in a riot squad, but, he knew, that this would only end in tear gas and blood, and for now no one had broken the law. It was a thronging crowd, some chanting, some waving their hands, some stomping and cursing, these were the men of course. The atmosphere was that of unrest, as if there was a line, and at any time it would be broken, like the sword at the end of a hair.
This was a hostage situation.
In the corner store, nestled with his back against the stool, he rested his head on the back of an over thrown chair. He was sitting in his own blood which had pooled from his side and onto the floor, each time he moved he felt the bullet shards spread around his fleash. Both eyes were rolled to the heavens as he groaned with pain.
"Beni, you okay?"
"Fine, keep your eye on the door, he's out there."
He, being the scariest thing they knew of.
The sliding glass door to the store was shattered from the bullet which had spread glass around the floor making it hard to step. He rolled his eyes shut again and for a moment the .357 magnum slide out of his hand and onto the floor. There was a point when one of the hostages tried to stand up and he gave a start flipping the gun from its dormat position to the ladys chest.
"HEY, get back down or I'll blow your heart out your back."
How did it come to this?
He knew...
How was he either going to die or go to jail, from being one of the richest men in the city to this. He was going to be killed.
Death, he knew, was bad...
But it wasn't alwasy this way, not always was he at the bottom at the pile. He used to kill people for a living and get away with it.
Get away with it.
The mob outside shouted for blood.

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